I wrote you a drunken letter yesterday. Well … it wasn’t a letter so much as a text, and I wasn’t drunk so much as high on hormones. There’s a period in my cycle – I’m not sure when it is – but there’s a period when all I do is want you. I long to have you near me, to have you hold me, and love me, and want me. I mostly try to ignore it, because it’s bound to result in baby-making, and I’m way past done with baby-making.
I don’t know what the cause is, so it always blindsides me. It starts with deep, philosophical thinking, then escalates to needs for fries, sausages, and chocolate. I find myself reading poetry, and taking a little too long in the shower. At some point, I pick my phone and start to dial your number, and most days, I stop before it rings.
Yesterday was like that. I scarfed a huge bar of chocolate, then I started to text. I wrote it once, twice, three times, trying to get the words just right. I almost cried from wanting you so much. I checked the time to see if you were awake, and this is what I wrote.
There are times in a girl’s life when she needs someone to hold her and love her and want her. Times like that, I wish you weren’t so far away.
I looked at the message, turned it over in my mind. I knew that I meant it, and I wanted you to hear it. I wanted you to know how much I felt it, to know how badly I want you. I knew I had no right to send it, that I should shift to something else … or someone else. Still, I stared at my phone, scrolled the address book, keyed in your number, hovered over send.
Then I stopped. I thought about your girl. Does she mean more to you than me? Do you love her more than me? Are you with her because you can’t be with me? If we could … if you could … would you leave her for me?
My finger strayed from ‘send’ … because it doesn’t matter. It’s not about who loves you more, wants you more, deserves you more. It’s about choice, it’s about time. And the fact is … she saw you first. She chose you first. And you choose her, or maybe … you let her choose you. Either way, you’re with her. You’re not with me.
I put the phone back on the floor, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.
This morning, my craving for you was gone. I grabbed the phone to put off the alarm and saw the text I wrote. It made me sad, but it also made me smile. I’m glad I put the phone down. I’m glad I didn’t hit send. I’m glad you don’t know what was on my mind. Because no matter how much I love and want you, I know how it feels, and I know how badly it would hurt for some girl to send that message to my man.